I want to escape from all of what I have around me, from my home, from friends and from my birth place and also I want to escape from this world. I want to escape from my home because I cannot bear the pain my family is experiencing on a daily basis. I cannot see my Mom’s sorrowful eyes nor do I have enough courage to tolerate the heart wrenching feelings of my elder sister Sammi. It is heart breaking when I see my elder brother as he is also helpless in doing something for our consolation.
I want to escape Balochistan because I do not have a heart to see people who are desperately waiting for their loved ones. Children of Balochistan, instead of living their childhood peacefully and playing with toys, are chanting slogans for the release of their disappeared family members. Almost every child of Balochistan is a “Sammi” waiting for her “Deen Mohammad”. Every mother is a “Khadija” waiting for “Zakir Majeed”. Every sister is “Seema Baloch” waiting for “Shabeer”.
I want to escape the land which has been bathing with the blood of innocents. Killers of humanity have complete immunity here, they can kill the mother of four year old Bramsh before her eyes and they can freely stab to death Kulsooms. No one is here to stop this brutality nor anyone pays heed to the “missing” persons’ grievances. The families are roaming from one city to another city to register their protest, but their never-ending struggle do not seem to bear any fruit.
I have spent my entire childhood in these worries. At that time when friends of my age were playing with their toys, I was at protest sites and knocking every door of justice for the safe recovery of my Baba. Eleven (11) long years have passed, but still I and my family are in a distressful situation. The situation in which we are spending our lives has been our fate since June 28, 2009 when we heard the devastating news of abduction of my Father, Dr Deen Mohammad. I recall those days when we had a happy family with my father among us. My father was a medical officer in district Khuzdar. He used to come to Mashkai, our home town, after every four months. I vividly remember how I could not wait even for 4-5 hours from the moment my father informed us that he was coming to Mashkai. Baba always used to bring toys for me. We used to lovingly protest with our father that we cannot wait for four (4) long months. At that time we were living at Nali Mashkai. Nali is a beautiful place surrounded by date palms. River Mashkai also flows across the village. On the southern side of the village there is a Pakistan Army camp. Whenever Baba came home, security personnel asked him where he was and why he always goes out of Mashkai. This happened despite the Army personnel knowing the fact that Baba was a medical doctor and his duty was in Khuzdar, the security personnel always used to torture us and my father by asking irrelevant questions.
When Baba was with us, all our relatives used to be so nice to us. They came to our home to visit us and always asked us if we need any favor from them. But ever since Baba has gone “missing”, all their artificial love has also faded down.
But the person who was and continues to raise us through all these difficulties is my mother. My mother has given us the reason to live. She motivated us to search and struggle for my Father. She put all her efforts to educate us. She gave us courage to go out and struggle for “Missing” Baloch people.
My mother also spent her childhood in difficult conditions like all the Baloch people of that time did. She used to go a long way to bring water for household use. She wanted to study in schools but there were no schools available for girls at that time. Because of not having schools, my mother did not study in schools. But after marrying my father, Dr Deen Mohammed, my mother had learnt so much from him. It was my father’s company that made my mother strong enough, and even after his abduction my mother has fought all difficulties alone. When my father was abducted, my mother has been all for us. I cannot even imagine how my mother faced difficulties for us. In front of us she pretended to be brave, but we know that there is a limit of patience. Perhaps sorrow can be hidden for one or two days, but it is not possible to hide it for 11 long years. Now we are passive toward one another’s feeling, because we are out of words, there are no words for our consolation. Distress of my father’s disappearance is unbearable, but we are still living with it. I still hope my father will come out one day, this hope is the reason I am still alive. All courts and Human Rights groups have disappointed me. But I will never give up the hope of getting justice.